


a few words from happiness

by captain_emmajones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:34:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ways you said “i love you” → 30-Too quick, mumbled into your scarf</p><p>Modern Orphans AU (~4.8k words) Angst/fluff (+tiny wee bit of smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a few words from happiness

30-Too quick, mumbled into your scarf

He arrives in the system on the shittiest winter day she has ever lived; grey sky, lungs suffocated by humidity, fingertips red from the cold. 

She’s sitting at a green plastic table in the back of what they call the “play room”, nose falsely buried in a book she doesn’t care about, alone, as usual. However, this particular night, the thought of being invisible is soothing: she can count her dollars in peace, the crumpled paper shaking underneath her slim fingers. 

Two hundred and forty, two hundred and forty-one,...

“Kids!” the voice of the director cuts her in her thoughts.

“This better be important or I flip this table,” she mumbles to herself as the little woman makes her way in the center of the room. 

Red hair, freckles everywhere, Miss Garcia seems to be encouraging someone to come in there, her chubby hand giving a slight movement. 

Emma sighs.

She’s far too familiar with this ceremony. And eager to not have to go through it anymore. 

“Kids, may I introduce you to Liam and Killian Jones.” and she’s saying it like they’ve just arrived to a party.

Articulating the words with this crisping joy that shouldn’t belong here. 

As if all those kids here were enjoying their stay, as if they weren’t awaken at night by nightmares of their parents leaving them again, because mind you, abandonment never lets you really go, even when you’re lonely, there’s still this fucking hope that maybe one day they’ll change their minds.

If there are minds to change at all. 

Her worn out pullover is irritating her skin and an abstent hand comes to scratch the skin she imagines red between the wide mesh. 

“Hello,” exclaims suddenly a manly voice which makes her head lift.  
Next to Miss Garcia stands still two boys : one is almost an adult she can tell, miel curly hair surrounding a round face enhanced by a blue gaze and he must be close to eighteen. He’s proudly holding himself, chin raised. 

His determination makes her heart ache. 

Behind the cockyness of smile, she can clearly make out innocence. Hope. 

Emma’s gaze shifts then, falls on the younger boy next to him. Perhaps her age. 

Tousled dark hair, eyes even bluer than who she assumes to be his brother, a face carved by gods it seems ; from the aristocratic nose, to the fullness of pink lips, to the soft tone of his scurf. Everything on his features is begging for devotion, it seems. He’s the most handsome boy of her age she has ever seen. 

And yet, she doesn’t find the same glimmer of hope in his eyes. Instead, she discovers her own reflection, and the hollow she discerns makes her dizzy. 

Slowly, his own oceans find the forest of her gaze, and the small smile which splits his face open stops her heart for an instant. 

Hastily, she pretends to be mesmerized by the wall behind him, trying to ignore the heat she feels, blooming from her cheeks to toes. 

.

It’s a really beautiful night. 

As she puts down one foot in the garden, dewy-covered grass welcoming her, she can’t help herself but find the sky enchanting. 

The stars are overwhelmingly bright, not a cloud to diminish their radiance. 

Smiling to herself, she throws her bag on her shoulders and repeats internally her plan. 

It’s 3am, and she knows the guardian, Jorge; it’s Friday night and he doesn’t handle his wine very well. 

She edges out carefully, her steps sure, the distance clear in her mind, the only traces behind her being the little clouds of frozen air she expires. Wrapped up in a blue winter jacket, she stills feels the bite of cold on her skin. 

“Come on, Emma. It’s now or never,” she whispers to herself when she gets to the barbed wire. 

It’s the hardest part, obviously, and she hasn’t been able to train for this, but she has brought the fluffiest gloves she could find. 

Despite the temperature, anxiety causes pearls of sweat to hurtle down her back and temples. Her heartbeats resonate in her skull, a sound that should be calming but is almost about to give her a headache. 

“Where do you think you’re going, lass?” 

One hand on the barbed wire, feet ready to jump, she stares mortified at the other side of the road. Lowering her head, tears are not long to come tickle her eyes, breath caught in her throat. 

It’s too late to run away now. You’re stuck here forever. 

Trembling, she shifts slowly towards the manly voice. 

“Please don’t tell Miss Garcia,” she hears herself mutter, voice husky, “I don’t want to disappoint her and-”

Her eyes stare at the beautiful features as her mouth opens itself wider. 

Indeed, in front of her was the youngest Jones brother. 

“You were saying, love ?” he teases her, blue eyes sparkling in the dimm. 

She’s torn between anger and relief, and so she bursts out. 

“Why the fuck are you here?” she spits, on hand gripping aggressively on his white t-shirt, and how the fuck is not cold in this. 

He doesn’t seem the slightest impressed, the bastard, eyebrow arching in simple answer. 

“You might have thought that you were discreet, love, but your constant carefulness has catched my attention.” he simply tells her, and his accent is the most endearing thing she has heard in a long time. 

Yet, her jaw is only clenched tighter as her brows form a severe line over her eyes. 

“I don’t have time to cuddle freshly orphaned baby brothers,” she hisses, and she realizes the depth of her words after having said them. 

Oh, the suffocation of the little sparkles in his eyes, the severity replacing them as he takes her hand with his to make her let go. 

And her gripping harder instead, heart at the very edges of her mouth. 

“I’m-I’m sorry,” she rapidly murmurs, eyes locked with his. “I’m so,” she starts again, seeing the hardness in his gaze melt softly, “I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just really eager to get the fuck out of here.” 

He considers her then, look tracing the lines of her face before going back to the deep green of her eyes, and that’s when she realizes that he’s still holding her hand. 

Gently, his thumbs brush over her palm and he opens his mouth, twice, before finally talking. 

“Don’t go.” 

In any other circumstances, her blood would have boiled as she would have punched him in the face, but something held her back that night. 

Might have been the timid blue of his eyes, the concern ringing in the waves of his oceans, the palpable understanding. 

As if he had already been there before. 

And then, the smile that splits his face open. 

“Stay here, love. It’s safer.” 

She tries to laugh it off then ; everything was so clear in her mind a second ago and he had to step into her life. 

“It’s not safer,” she hears herself claim, ignoring as she can the wetness of her gaze. How blurry he soon is, “Nobody sees me, nobody cares. I’m invisible.” Her voice breaks on the last word, something hideous. “I can’t-...I can’t be here anymore. I  
to leave.”

She’s stating the truth, she’s finally exposing her reality, this tumor keeping her from breathing. 

“Nobody will ever want me. I made peace with that.” 

She’s very well aware of the fact that her eyes are screaming the exact contrary, but she doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on her hand, his long fingers so comforting against her frozen skin. 

“Listen love; my brother will be twenty-one in about a year. He’ll be able to be my legal representative.” 

As he talks, he gets closer to her, boths hands now holding hers, and she just keeps losing herself in the depth of his oceans. 

“We could take you with us.” he eventually murmurs, words she’s not sure to understand. 

She stares at him then, humes the smell of fresh grass and the purity of a silent night, ribcage about to explode. 

“Why me?” Barely a whisper, the question of a lifetime. 

His chuckle then, something she’ll learn that she’ll never cease to love. The little fringe falling in front of his eyes, this stolen moment. 

“I’ve been looking far too ardently for my own good, and I have concluded that you’re the prettiest lass in there.” 

.

She doesn’t really know why she chooses to follow him that night. 

Learns later instead that she made the best decision of her life. 

.

They sit at 2am in the grass  
her saying  
, and they talk. 

At first, of nothing that really matters. 

He teaches her how to read the stars, something he learned from his long gone father, and she loves how his voice is a warm cloud against her ear. (Sometimes, she forgets to look where he points at, awe-stricken by the length of his eyelashes. 

He gets offended by it. “Come on Swan, I can’t be  
handsome.” 

She shakes her head but her eyes say  
.) 

.

He sneaks into the  
, as he likes to say, and he kisses every little girl on their forehead before claiming her bed as his too and laying next to her. 

She complains the first few times. For the form. Certainly blushing from head to toe. 

Eventually, she simply leans her head on his chest and closes her eyes as he plays gently with her fingers, his breath soothing in her hair. 

. 

Liam doesn’t like her at first, eyes her with scorn as she steals french fries from Killian’s plate. 

He’s jealous of their intimacy, she gathers. 

For so long, he had been Killian’s everything. Having to share him with someone else is no easy task. 

(The times without Killian are easier for her, she’s used to being by herself.)

. 

He finally seems to warm up to her when Killian gets sick and she’s the most worried teenager on earth. 

As she presses a cold washcloth on his forehead, she feels his stare on her figure and looks up to see him smiling softly. 

“I’m glad he has you.” he tells her later that night, as her legs hang loose from the balcony she’s sitting on. 

Breath caught, she stares at him, mortified. 

“He’ll never have to be alone anymore.” 

.

She hates the meaning behind the words. 

Nothing is sure in life, nothing is already written. 

What if she and Killian fight? What if they argue and never talk to each other again? 

She’ll have his fucking words marked in her mind forever. It’s a weight she doesn’t need on her shoulders. 

.

Liam dies in a car crash. 

The least memorable death you’d ever thought of: a drunk driver, him at the side of his new girlfriend. 

She finds out before Killian. 

She learns somebody’s else pain can be the worst one you’ve ever felt. 

She learns the terror of silence and how many tears can you shed in a night before your eyes get dry. 

.

She holds him at night and takes care of him during the day. 

She completely loses herself in his sorrow. 

Every stolen smile is a victory. 

.

Despite everything, she finds him remarkably strong. 

As his brother’s corpse is buried in some meaningless tomb, there’s not a tear on his handsome face. 

Only the grip tightening on her fingers. 

. 

His 18th birthday is the first one without Liam.

She decides to make it memorable. 

“You know what Swan? We’re moving to France.” he tells her in the corridor, his fingers intertwined with hers as she guides him towards his surprise. 

Eyes covered with a scarf of hers, excitement is making her skin burn. 

“Why the fuck would we move to France? I mean, except for the food.” 

She opens the door leading to the garden then, checks twice to see if no one is watching them. 

“Because, Swan, in France, at my age, I would be legally an adult.” he brags, a cheeky smile in his voice. 

“Ah, what a mistake it would be, Killian.”

She doesn’t miss what he’s implying; that in France he would be able to leave this fucking place and take her with him. But she doesn’t want to bother herself with such thoughts tonight. 

Without giving him a chance to snap back, she unties the fabric on his eyes, fingers brushing against his cheek. 

Stepping back, she waits for his reaction. 

She’s not disappointed; the little constellations drawing themselves in the tender blue of his eyes, the way he gapes and mumbles  
,” his hands falling on the sides of his body. 

It’s the first time she has seen him this happy since his brother died. 

The genuineness of his smile. 

 

“I put all of my love into this.” she finally states, hands clasped together as he makes his way through the garden. 

She had put a soft blanket on the grass, because  
, and a bag of McDonald's is sitting in the middle of it. She’s pretty sure he can hear the so-special scent of junk food giving you a middle finger for your health. 

Around the blanket, candles are lit, giving it all a very romantic tone she’s not sure is really expected. The little flames are forming shadows on the grass, and she’s practically hopping up and down on her feet. 

In the warmth of June, everything is so quiet. 

“How the hell is Jorge not going to see the lights, Swan?” asks Killian’s worried voice, and she finds it adorable. 

“Don’t worry about Jorge, I gave him a bottle of wine and told him I had to make you lose your virginity tonight.” 

His laughter as he sits down, oceans's waves emphasized by the lumières. 

“Which I assume is like, the bloody best argument of the year.” 

A slight breeze playing with her ponytail, she quickly comes to sit next to him. 

“I mean, like, you’re pretty hot. It is my duty as  
.” 

She shifts towards him, offering him a warm smile. She knows he remembers too. 

Awestruck, he gently considers her, wind tangling his hair, before lifting himself and placing a kiss on her cheek, one hand cradling her jaw. 

“Thank you, Swan,” he murmurs in her ear. 

And she just wraps one arm around his neck, pressing their body together in a loving embrace, much more overwhelmed that she expected to be. 

“Okay,” he starts, pulling away from her, and she hears the emotion in his voice, “time to eat or it will get cold. And it would be an outrage considering at what length you probably went to get me this.”  
, she thinks to herself,  
They eat in silence, crickets keeping them company, and end up laying down on the blanket, facing the stars. 

“I’d never thought I’d say this again so soon,” his voice breaks the silence, and she turns her face to see his expression, “but I’m really happy. Here with you. That’s all I need.” 

Her features soften, something very sweet blooming into her chest. 

She reaches for his hand, placing a kiss there. “You make me happy too.” 

“Bloody hell, Swan; we’re getting cheesy as fuck, as you would say.” he exclaims, tone so light, and she wants this night to last forever.

“Ah, I guess we’re getting old.” she retorts, all teeth out. 

He laughs then, and she’s so pleased of herself. 

 

Slowly, she discerns him bring his face closer to hers, till their nose are brushing. 

“Hey, Swan.” 

“Hmm?” 

“No matter what happens in our lives, promise me we’ll always be friends.” 

His words are soft caress on her skin, and terrible knots in her stomach. 

“You know I can’t promise you that, Killian.” 

He doesn’t seem to agree, brows furrowed as his hand finds her jawline. 

“Promise me you’ll always think of me.” 

She stares at him, mouth slightly open. 

“I promise.” 

His lips spread themselves in a concerned smile, and then he’s pressing his mouth against hers. 

Their kiss is sloppy, and it’s endearing how he tries to find a good angle to deepen it, hand rummaging through her hair, while she struggles with his nose, somehow such a nuisance. 

Eventually they settle for a rhythm, and she even dares to tease his tongue with hers. 

Foster system didn’t leave you much time for flirting. In fact, it wouldn’t probably be featured in her top 100 priorities.

“Stop thinking Swan,” grumbles his husky voice as he breaks the kiss, the vibrant blue of his eyes staring at her. 

She sighs softly. “You’re right.” And with that, she throws herself on top of him. 

His body is incredibly heard underneath hers, the guy is only made of muscles, and she loves the smile that answers her. 

“Bloody hell, that’s how I like you, Swan.” 

Shaking her head in front of his ridiculousness, she ghosts her lips over his again, biting at his bottom lips while his hand find her arse. Between her legs, she distinguishes the hard pressure, and it only causes her to be more aroused. 

Feeling her cheeks going red, she lets go of his lips to stand back up and lifts him with her, hands on his t-shirt. 

She’s graced by the view of his tousled hair and swollen lips. His hands pulls her tank top over her head and he puts his full attention on the skin of her neck, causing her to arch her back and moan lightly. 

In vengeance, she leans on her hand to slide her center against his hardness, waves of pleasure invading her. 

“Fuck,” she whimpers, “I thought you were a-  
, - virgin.” 

He has unclipped her bra and his hungry mouth travels on her breast, hands marking her back. 

“I am, Swan,” he says before licking her nipple, “that doesn’t mean I’m a monk either.” 

She laughs at that one, her body shaking in his arms, and presses her core harder against his jeans. 

“Okay, enough,” he grumbles as he bites her shoulder. 

With that, he throws his t-shirt out the way and lays her body gently next to him, to which she groans and rolls her eyes. 

“Is that the way you treat a lady, Killian ?” she teases him, one hand playing with a blade of grass. 

“Shut up, Swan, and undress yourself.” 

To say she’s turn on by the commanding tone of his voice is the least one could say. It’s so  
her Killian and she  
it. 

Obeying him, she slides down her shorts and undergarments along her legs as he does the same. Finally naked, he stares longingly at her, eyes caressing her curves. The intensity of his gaze makes her blush even harder, and she’s glad the night sky can not give it away. 

Carefully, he comes close to her, one hand holding his chin as his others hurtles down her breath, marks her belly button, and draws her wet center. 

Holding her breath, she bites her lips as he brushes her clit and she decides to take things in hand. She reaches for his cock, stroking it gently, and looks at his face to see if she’s doing it right. 

“First time with Emma Swan,” he mumbles later in her neck as she rocks his hips, “that was like, at least in my top five fantasies.” 

.

Some days are sunny. Some others, not so much. 

Some days are kissing in neck and fooling around in empty rooms.

Others are shadows eating his face, and his gaze at her from across the table. 

The bitterness of guilt as she talks and he doesn’t listen, because he remembers his promise. 

They should have been out of this hell for three months now, and he feels responsible for her being here.

Because he stopped her from leaving, and now she’s stuck here with him. 

He never talks about it, but it haunts his dreams, she can tell, it’s the reason sometimes he declines her kisses, mumbling that he doesn’t deserve her. 

He doesn’t know that for him, she would make the same decision all over again. 

She doesn’t tell him.

It’s their tragedy. A few words from happiness. 

.

Sometimes she thinks that they don’t really belong together, that they don’t fit, that they were so glad to find someone who would  
to fit with them that they confused it for love. 

.

Eventually, everything bursts out. 

.

It’s the shittiest day of winter since she has been in the system, air freezing, heavy with unsaid words. 

It’s Liam’s birthday. 

He has been sitting on his bed all day, unwilling to move despite her best attempts. 

She wouldn’t blame if he weren’t  
her. 

“You can’t act like you’re dead just because he’s gone Killian!” 

There she was, screaming, hands on hips, begging him to do something to prove to her than she hasn’t been mistaken on him. 

“It’s so easy for you to speak, Swan.” His voice low, menacing, and it only makes her madder. “You haven’t lost anyone.” 

Her blood is boiling as he stares at her, eyes so indifferent. “How could you? You’ve got no one.” 

Her heart sinks. 

She takes a step back, breath caught, tears birthing at the edges of her eyes. 

“This isn’t fair, Killian.” she hears herself pledge. “I’ve always been there for you.” 

Her words only seem to sent him more over the edge, his body shaken by a rage she doesn’t recognize. 

“Aye, and that’s exactly my point, Emma!” 

He never calls her Emma. Throat tight, she feels a tear hurtle down her cheek. 

“The truth is, I won’t ever forgive myself for keeping you here.” he shouts again, and she almost touch his struggle with her bare hands. 

“What do you want me to tell you Killian? That I’m mad at you because you made me stay? That I’m mad that your brother died?” 

“If you could be bloody honest with me once in your life!” 

His breath on her face as he comes closer, presses his forehead to hers. 

“Look into my eyes and tell me that you’ve never thought about how much I’ve ruined your life.” His whisper is a slice into her heart. 

Of fucking  
she’s thought about it. 

At nights, when the walls are so tall and all she wants to do is run. Get another chance. Find a job, start something, not this neverending waiting. 

Considering her, he shifts and walks away. 

“That’s was I was thinking.” 

.

Against all odds, for her 19th birthday, a family decides to take her. 

She says yes. (Ignores the despair in his gaze as she passes him by, never crossing his eyes.)

One year is all it took for their relationship to destroy itself into the wind. 

She knows she could have hold one.

So many times where he was begging her to start again and she had just ignored his attempt. 

The wound of his heartbreak was still open wide and she had no idea how to heal it. 

. 

They don’t talk more as she prepares herself for her great departure. (She has no intention of coming back even though her foster home doesn’t appear to be her  
family.) 

Actually, they do a pretty good job at ignoring each other. 

. 

She says goodbye to the kids on the side of the road, kisses their little foreheads and promises the youngest that they’ll find their own home soon,  
When it comes to him, she knows she has to bid him farewell; she might never move on if she doesn’t.

It’s strange to stare at his pretty blue eyes after all this time. 

He is nothing like the boy who told her to stay. Barely a man watching her leave. 

No more constellations in his eyes, just this  
, the void Liam created when he died and she expanded. 

He’s all wrapped in his blue scarf, the one that  
belonged to his brother, and his eyes are far more red than she expected.

“A good journey to you, Swan.” he tells her, and she’s surprised by the sound of his voice. 

She remembered it softer. 

“Yeah; take care of yourself, Killian.” 

And with that, she brushes his cheek with her hand, rest of tenderness in her touch, and presses a kiss on his dimples. 

“I love you,” he mumbles into his scarf, far too quick. 

She doesn’t catch his words. How could she? 

Had the wind been not this hard that day she would have guessed. 

It’s a story of almost and not enough. 

. 

To her greatest surprise, her foster family doesn’t care much for her. 

They give her the “it’s not your fault, but you do not belong here” at table one night, not knowing her bag is already packed. 

.

She steals a car. A yellow bug. She tries to forget Killian in Neal’s arms. 

It doesn’t work out. 

.

Two year after her departure, on his birthday, she contacts their center. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, we have no information. Mister Jones has left no indication of his new location.” 

. 

He doesn’t want to be found. It twists her stomach and makes her overthink at night. 

.

She finds a job at a café-bar in New York. The pay is meager but she takes what she can get.  
She search for his features in the crowd of the Big Apple, yearning for the tender blue of his eyes, doomed to hold onto this chimère. 

.

Eventually, she stops looking. 

.

He arrives in the café on the shittiest winter day she has ever lived; grey sky, lungs suffocated by humidity, fingertips red from the cold. 

She’s sitting in the back of the place, nose falsely buried in a book she doesn’t care about, alone, as usual. 

However, this particular night, the thought of being invisible is soothing: she can count her dollars in peace, the crumpled paper shaking underneath her slim fingers. 

“Hey, Emma!” calls a voice from behind the counter. 

, she thinks to herself, brows furrowed, as frustration slowly strangles her throat. 

“This better be important or I flip this table,” she mumbles to herself as Ruby, her coworker, makes her way towards her. 

“Somebody for you at the checkout,” informs the brunette, only her head showing from the wall. “A hot somebody, if I may add.” 

Emma sighs. 

Any other day, she would have ignored this piece of information. For some reason, not today. 

She stands up, rubbing her hands on her jeans, and directs herself to the checkout. 

A man is standing there, back facing her. 

“You asked for me?” she asks, getting his attention. 

He shifts towards her, a smile drawn on his face. 

Her heart skips a bit. 

“Hello, Swan.” 

And then the words she’d never thought she would hear.

“I’ve been looking for you since you left your foster home.” 

. 

He waits for her to finish her hours, sitting at the wooden bar, and he is exactly as she remembers. 

But more peaceful. More open. As if those three years of being apart allowed him to reflect on his life and himself. 

It shows in the way he’s standing, back relaxed, mouth curled in a content smile. 

He hasn’t lost one bit of handsomeness, from his dark hair to the clearness of his gaze, everything is intact and  
. 

He came back. 

The thought keeps her warm throughout the day. 

.

She leads him to her apartment in silence, two individuals lost in New York City’s crowd, two grains of sand. 

.

There are a lot of words that night, laughters and tears. 

There’s this map he puts on the center of her table and where he tells her he’s been looking for her. 

They found out they missed each other so many times. That on some dates they were in the same city and their paths didn’t cross. 

A little bit like fate knew they weren’t ready for their love, a little bit like fate gave them time to heal by themselves. 

There’s his body in the corner of her couch, and her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply, memories burning her eyes. 

And the “I love you” murmured in the warmth of her ear, the one she doesn’t miss. 

Her eyes open wide, mouth slightly open, searching for the truth, only finding tenderness and devotion. 

“I love you, too.”


End file.
